Out of the Fog

It was the 10th day of dense, clinging, wet fog and my grandmother was at her wits end. She had exhausted all her options to keep us entertained and out of her way - we were weary of card games and dominoes, cribbage and monopoly, books, even paper dolls and toy soldiers. It was like being completely enveloped in wringing wet cotton, suffocating and dull. Sounds came out of the fog - we heard footsteps and voices, the cautious noise of vehicles as they navigated the curve, the cries of gulls and the boat engines and the incessant foghorn, but sound was all we had. Nana had tied a rope from the back door to the woodshed and we followed it back and forth to fill the woodbox but otherwise things were put on hold, the mail went uncollected and the washing undone. My mother and grandmother sniped at each other morning to night and tempers flared for the smallest of reasons. Even the dogs were impatient for a clear day, sitting listlessly at the back door and whining, noses pressed unhappily against the screen, too sad to bark, too edgy to sleep.

At first, the arrival of our New York relatives was a welcome diversion - my grandmother's sister and her husband, their daughter and son-in-law, my two cousins, and an ill tempered, yappy chihuahua promised new blood, new voices, new alternatives. Soon, however, it was clear that all these related women confined under one roof was going to spell trouble, the mother-daughter and sister-sister dynamics were competitive, snippy, a passive aggressive battle for control and authority. No one could agree on anything and each wanted their own way. By week's end, the women were civil to each other but there was frost in the air and children and husbands were keeping clear of any female combination. Only the disagreeable chihuahua seemed at ease, driving my grandmother to distraction by nipping at her heels and being constantly underfoot. The clacking of the tiny dog's nails on the wood floors echoed through the house night and day and by the end of the second week, Nana's nerves succumbed and she exploded, flinging a cast iron skillet in the dog's direction ( she missed ) and threatening him with "being beaten into next week".

In an icy voice, she called for a house meeting to clear the air and lay down new rules. In no uncertain terms, she explained that she was the legal owner of the house and we were all guests at her discretion and come hell or high water we were going to start behaving as such or else. Effective immediately, we were all going to get along, follow orders, be courteous with each other and pleasant to her, be on time for meals, make our own beds and stop quarreling. The chihuahua, she emphasized, was to be kenneled at night and reined in during the day or there would be dire consequences. There was, she warned, to be no discussion or challenge to her decision and anyone who disagreed could pack his or her things and leave. For a moment, no one spoke, then her startled relatives began protesting. She raised one finger to silence them, her expression grim and her eyes like steel and the chattering died away. With a menacing last glare at the chihuahua, she turned and walked away.

As if even nature respected her rules, the fog lifted and the sun came out the following day.